


this night is sparkling, never let it go

by nightcap



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Criminal Masterminds, F/F, First Kiss, Pranks and Practical Jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 12:28:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2191875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightcap/pseuds/nightcap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So you and Lydia,” says Isaac, crossing his arms, “made out? In Peter Hale’s driveway? For <i>two hours</i>?”</p><p>“Two and a half,” says Lydia, inspecting a nail. Allison smiles faintly at the wall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this night is sparkling, never let it go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gwenstacy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwenstacy/gifts).



> i have no idea what i'm doing. "kiss me, hardy" is a legitimate quote. please read code name verity. title from enchanted by taylor swift: you're welcome

“Okay,” says Lydia, pressing her lips together, “so Jackson’s bedroom faces out on the side, right? And he hates sleeping with the window open, so we’ll probably have to lever it with something. You brought the – the thingy. The crowbar.”

“Yep,” says Allison, flipping the turn signal.  

“And I know how to disable the alarm, for reasons, _sex_ reasons, so we’ve got that covered. And – Saran wrap, in the backseat –”

They both take a second to check, Lydia looking from the side of her seat and Allison in the rearview mirror: she’s anything if not a safe driver.

“Definite check,” says Lydia, closing her eyes in concentration. “And the tree – you be lookout, okay?”

“Got it, Lyd,” says Allison, like it’s not already planned. Lydia’ll one, climb the tree (she’s wearing pants especially for the occasion, dark wash denim. White would’ve gone better with her top, but had to be avoided, for obvious reasons), two, pry the window open, and, three, do the Saran wrapping of the furniture. Allison, having dropped her off, will park down the street and make sure nobody’s in the area.

It’s beautiful, semi-pointless, and if done right, incredibly annoying for the male involved. Which is everything Lydia _lives_ for.

“Alright, he should be asleep,” says Allison, checking her cool digital watch, which she took last week, from her dad. “Ready?”

“May I do the honors?” asks Lydia, who hops out the parked car. The frilly edges of her black shirt lift a little in the breeze. She takes a mock bow.

“Of course, milady,” says Allison, mouth quirking up at the corners. “Locked and loaded.”

“Good,” says Lydia, wedging the rolls of plastic under her arms. She blows a kiss over her shoulder

Allison catches it and smiles to herself in the dark car.

-

After their first success (“What the _fuck happened to my room_ ,” hisses Jackson, “why is my _blanket_ made of _plastic wrap_ ,”), they decide to do it again, with different targets and different weapons of choice. There’s Samantha Finnegan, who fed Prada chocolate in the seventh grade (goodbye Nutella, hello Vegemite) (that took a careful amount of planning and a trip to the ethnic food store), there’s both the twins, who are dicks (dildos _everywhere_ ), there’s Danny Mahealani’s ex-boyfriend, who didn’t call back (you don’t even want to know).

“Hey, Lydia,” says Allison one Sunday at the mall, frowning at her phone, “I got a text? From that girl we met last week –”

“Sarah,” says Lydia, reapplying her lip gloss and cementing it by smacking her lips. “What does she want?”

“She’s offering to _pay us_ ,” says Allison, looking up, “for a prank. Can you _believe_ that?” and that’s how it begins: Bonnie and Clyde, Ginger and Fred, Dick and Jane. Except with cuter shoes and fancier beanies. (who said black clothing had to be bourgeoisie?)

-

“Lydia,” says Derek. Everyone’s over at the pack house: it’s the weekly meeting, the only time Lydia would even have a chance to interact with Derek, excepting the werewolf voodoo and Japanese demons and rapid orphaning of all Beacon Hills teenagers and whatever. “I just want you to know, well, you know.” He gestures with his left hand, very vaguely.

“I definitely do not know,” says Lydia innocently, swinging her legs. She’s seated on the kitchen counter, a room away from the extreme(ly loud) twister battle happening in the lounge. “Do tell.”

“What you’re doing,” he says. There’s something in his face: concern, maybe. Or anger, or he’s just, like, brooding. Over the death of his family.

He opens his mouth again. “What you’re doing? With Allison? It’s illegal. Don’t. It’s hurting people –”

Lydia loses the nonchalance.

“It’s hurting people that _deserve it_.”

 “It’s not – I’m not saying that you’re not, that they don’t –” a deep breath. “I see your point, Lydia. Just. Be careful,” he says, like he has to squeeze the words out. “Just be careful.”

“Okay,” says Lydia, and because she's Lydia, the encounter never comes back to haunt her or whatever.

-

“Are you sure,” says Allison quietly, “that you want to do this?”

“No, I want to do this,” says Lydia. “I hate him.” She doesn’t mention how it’s kind of more than that: he makes her feel small. She hates feeling small. She’s Lydia Martin, and she is going to _rule the fucking world_ , and, well, maybe leave time for a few good pranks along the way.

“I know,” says Allison, softly, handing her the razor. “Last words?” It’s a game they like to play: what would you say if this mission was your last?

“You first,” says Lydia, smoothing out an invisible wrinkle on her black linen pants.

“Kiss me, Hardy,” says Allison. “Nelson’s last words at the Battle of Trafalgar? None of that ‘I am glad to die for my country’, him.”

“That’s good,” says Lydia. “That’s really something. I don’t have _any_ thing.”

She gives Allison a quick peck on the cheek and runs into Peter Hale’s house, metaphorical coattails flapping behind her.

-

“Hey,” says Allison, when Lydia finally comes back out. She’s standing outside, leaning against the side of the car. “Did you do it?”

“He’s not home,” says Lydia, shrugging. “I thought we could – wait? Out here. For him to come home, of course.”

Allison opens the car door for her, with a flourish.

“After you, Lady Martin.”

“ _Thank_ you,” says Lydia, sitting down daintily. Allison closes her door and climbs in, herself.

“We might be here awhile,” says Lydia, offhandedly, pulling and releasing the seat belt.

“We might be,” says Allison, smiling at her. She leans over and plucks something from her cheekbone. An eyelash. “Here.”

“Mm,” says Lydia, and that’s when she does it, when she closes her eyes and presses a kiss to Allison’s lips. Allison might kiss back.

“Kiss me, Hardy,” murmurs Allison, smiling so hard she might burst. “Maybe we should drive home? We could –”

“Or,” says Lydia slowly, raising an eyebrow, “we could wait, for just a little longer.”

“We could,” says Allison. She pulls the keys from the ignition.

-

(“So you and Lydia,” says Isaac, crossing his arms, “made out? In Peter Hale’s driveway? For _two hours_?”

“Two and a half,” says Lydia, inspecting a nail. Allison smiles faintly at the wall.)

**Author's Note:**

> on tumblr at ppprptts.


End file.
